all attempts to persuade him to acknowledge the justice of his sentence were fruitless." The ballad was once much longer and more particular; but Mr Thomson shortened it to suit a page, and, as usual, I have no original copy. Now cease of auld ferlies to tell us, Wha lived in the wild Highland glen. The times were grown hard to brave Donald, The hearts o' the chiefs were a' broken, They keekit out o'er the wild correi,— Lochaber was herried and lone! They turn'd them about on the mountain, "O, hon a Righ!" cried poor Donald; "There's naething but sorrow for me!" Now our three noble lads are in hiding, Afar in Glen-Moriston's height; In the rock a' the day they are biding, And the moon is their candle by night. And oft their rash rising they rued it, As looking o'er ravage and death, And blamed their ain prince, Charlie Stuart, For causing the Highlands sic skaith. Ae night they sat fearfu' o' danger, Till tears cam happing like rain"You're welcome, young Dugald M'Cluny ; For a' you see here is your ain!" Each kend the brave wreck of Culloden, Lest one of the three had betray'd him, D They served him with eager devotion, They had not a plack in their coffer, Wi' nought but his dirk and his plaid! The sun shines sweet on the heather, The names of the loyal M'Donalds Had flourish'd for ever and aye! WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. IN the title and chorus of this favourite pastoral song, I choose rather to violate a rule in grammar, than a Scottish phrase so common, that when it is altered into the proper way, every shepherd and shepherd's sweetheart account it nonsense. I was once singing it at a wedding with great glee the latter way, (" when the kye come hame,”) when a tailor, scratching his head, said, "It was a terrible affectit way that!" I stood corrected, and have never sung it so again. It is to the old air of "Shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't," with an additional chorus. It is set to music in the Noctes, at which it was first sung, and in no other place that I am aware of. COME all ye jolly shepherds That whistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, When the kye comes hame. 'Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbour of the great— 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, &c. There the blackbird bigs his nest For the mate he loes to see, And on the topmost bough, O, a happy bird is he; Where he pours his melting ditty, And love is a' the theme, |